


A Father's Love

by ILikeCookiesLoads



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILikeCookiesLoads/pseuds/ILikeCookiesLoads
Summary: In which the Herrani man who took Kestrel's moth at the end of a Winner's Crime never got the message to Arin, he never came to her rescue.Time passes.The Herrani are forced to retreat to the south where they are welcomed as refugees and fight a long war. Eventually reaching a treaty, leaving them little land and few rights.The Emperor already had his eyes on new land. But to everyone's surprise, General Trajan requests an early retirement."What would you like for your retirement gift?" The emperor smiled, in front of everybody, in front of the court, "I will give you anything you want. You've been loyal to me all these years."The General didn't speak at first, "can we speak of this in private?"The Emperor shook his head, "no need for secrecy, tell me." The Emperor knew very well why the General wanted secrecy, and thought that these words would compel him to ask for something else."I want my daughter." It didn't.
Relationships: Arin/Kestrel (The Winner's Trilogy)





	1. I want my daughter

"I want my daughter."  
Silence filled the court. Murmuring and confusion.  
For once, the Emperor was as surprised as his court. He knew it was what the General would ask for. But he expected, forcing the request to be made public would make him reconsider.  
"Okay, as you wished a moment ago. We'll talk in private."  
In a private office, far away from prying eyes and ears. The General sat quiet in front of the Emperor.  
"Was that request serious?"  
"Very."  
The Emperor tilted his head, "You haven't talked about her since she left. Why now?"  
"I've had more important things to deal with. My duty to the Valorian people. But now that the South and the Herrani are dealt with, I feel I deserve to settle down."  
"Of course, of course, and you could settle down with any woman in this country! Adopt, create a new family."  
General Trajan shook his head, "it would not be the same. What Kestrel did was unforgivable, but she's still my daughter."  
The Emperor considered, "you have been loyal to me for many years. And I did say anything," he clearly was not happy. "She's been in that camp for years now. She won't be as strong or sturdy as she used to be, and she always was a fragile thing. She won't be as smart either, she'll of lost that to time. Are you certain you want her back?"  
Trajan nodded.  
The Emperor looked resigned, "fine. If that is your request then I grant it. I will sign the documents and you can go pick her up. Where will you be living? Surely not the capital?"  
"No," the General shook his head, "my old home in the Peninsula was returned to me after the war. It will be easy for me to set guards there, hard for her to escape, but big enough she shouldn't feel locked up."  
"I see you have thought about this."  
The General nodded, his expression would be unreadable to most, but The Emperor could clearly see the embarrassment. Kestrel was a weakness. One he was admitting to.  
"Well, I wish you both the best old friend. I trust you to keep her out of trouble."  
"Of course."  
General Trajan wasted no time to leave the capital, heading north.


	2. Collection

The same silver haired woman who had greeted Kestrel on her arrival was working at reception when Trajan arrived. He had come by horse, but as well as his own horse. Several servants accompanied him in a carriage. Although the General had never personally been to the camps, he figured the word would be hard and there was a possibility Kestrel would not be up to several days of riding. Fuss, the carriage. 

“I come to pick up one of your prisoners.” 

The woman raised her brows, “well. That’s a first,” she took the piece of paper signed personally by the Emperor. She grinned, “I remember this one.” 

The General said nothing. 

“Bright, determined, tried to break out early on. Given all are security measured, made it pretty far,” she nodded, at the time it had been maddening, especially seeing as Kestrel had choked her, but enough time had passed it was now amusing to think. 

The General felt proud, not much. But even in a place like this Kestrel had been strong. 

The woman flicked through some pages, “been here quite a long time. Surprised she’s still here.” 

Trajan waited patiently. 

“Ah, yes,” she pulled out the file, then frowned. 

“Is there a problem?” 

“Oh, no problem. Just so you know, she was moved down to the lower layers about a week ago.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Well, bodies aren’t meant to work quite as many hours or days as this do,” she grinned, “usually after a year or so they begin to weaken. When this happens, we move them downstairs, give them a little while to either recover and get back to work or you know... die.” 

Trajan swallowed, he nodded, “but she’s not dead?” 

“No, no,” she waved her hand dismissively, “she’s alive. Just weak. Shall we go?” 

Trajan nodded. They headed into the rooms. Well, cells. Empty cells. Both of people and anything else. They made it to the end of the hall then down some stairs. These cells were not empty. 

Prisoners were sleeping on their slabs. Calling them beds would be a lie. Some were fidgeting despite their apparent weakness. One of the cell’s door was open and guards were dragging out a body. Trajan couldn't help but glance at it but it wasn’t his daughter. 

No. Kestrel was sitting on her bed trembling, her hand fiddling with the seam of her trousers. She didn’t move when they stopped at the bars and stared in. She didn’t react. 

“Hey,” the silver haired woman knocked on the bars. 

Kestrel turned. 

“You got a visitor,” she grinned, “not many of those round here now are there?” 

Kestrel didn’t respond, her eyes moved over to General Trajan. He tensed. 

Trajan never felt fear. Not on the battlefield and in the mist of war. Not at the sight of enemies. Not ever. Except now. Because seeing his daughter he remembered handing her over to the emperor. To here. And seeing her now. She was severely underweight, her cheeks and eyes were sunken in, her hair a greasy tangled mess. She looked ill, so much iller than Trajan had ever seen her. And he thought she must hate him. 

But her face was empty of any recognition. No hatred. No malice. Nothing. Not even curiosity. She went back to fiddling with the seam of her trousers. 

The silver haired woman tsked as she opened the cell door. “Come here.” She ordered. 

Kestrel obeyed without a doubt. She moved her legs of the slab and stood and fell. 

Her legs gave way under her weight, no matter how little that already was, and she hit the dirt ground. 

General Trajan was by her side fast, his arms moved under her to pick her up. 

“Ah, yeah, that’s why she was down here,” the woman laughed. 

Trajan wanted to scold her, but instead he looked down at his daughter, now safely in his grasp. Her expression was blank, except for the slightest hint of confusion in her eyes, like she didn’t understand how she’d gotten from the slab to the floor to this man’s arms. 

“All yours,” the woman closed the cell door after he exited. “Will you be needing any drugs?” 

“What?” 

“So, she doesn’t have any withdrawal symptoms. We use a combination of...” and she went on to tell Trajan about the two drugs, the one to make them work and the one to make them sleep. She told him about the withdrawal symptoms. 

Trajan took in this information like he did everything. Information was power. He asked for enough of the sleeping drug to help through the long journey home. But decided against the work one, decided it best to start and finish the withdrawal process as soon as possible. 

He lay her down in a cot in the carriage. Instructing the servants to take care of her. 

He got on his horse, the gates were opened for him and he led his men out. 

It was many hours until General Trajan stopped to rest for the night. Partly because he was used to long days of riding. Partly because he wanted to get home. Partly because he didn’t want to face his daughter. 

The servants set up camp, another cot was set up for the General inside the carriage with his daughter. Upon entering he was relieved to see her sleeping. She was in a deep slumber, the soft rise and fall of her chest was relaxing. He reached for her hand, it was cold, frail, he could feel her bones poking into his hand. 

He felt tears in his eyes but took a deep breath and held them in. He would not cry in front of his daughter, not even now while she slept. He was better than that. 

The next morning Kestrel began to have withdrawal symptoms. Trajan woke up to the sight of his daughter trembling in her cot. Despite trembling and pulling her blanket close as though cold, there was a thin layer of sweat covering her skin. She whimpered when Trajan touched her. 

“It’s okay Kestrel, this will pass,” Trajan reassured. 

She looked up at him, but still no recognition, she curled up whimpering slightly. Trajan located some bread for her to have as breakfast and poured a cup of water. He helped her to sit up and bough the water to her lips. 

She looked relieved and gulped it down before pausing halfway, pulling it away a look of confusion. 

“What’s wrong?” Trajan asked. 

“It’s... different.” It was the first time Trajan heard her voice in such a long time. But it didn’t sound like her, it was soft, too soft. No louder than a whisper, like she didn’t have the energy for more. 

“It’s not drugged.” 

“I know.” She hadn’t wanted to say it. She didn’t know why. But something about admitting she wanted the drug felt wrong, maybe it was because she was never given the choice to take it in the first place? 

“Here,” he tried to get her to eat. 

She did, but it was slow. She still shook and tears were spilling from her eyes. 

“Are you in pain?” 

She nodded. 

“It’ll pass.” His tone was stern, it was probably meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t come of that way. 

But for some reason, that seemed right to Kestrel who had no idea who this man was. 

“I’m going to lead; the servants will take care of you.” 

She looked at him but said nothing. 

Trajan left, climbed on his horse and led the way. 

He stopped earlier this time. When he entered the carriage, a servant was wiping her exposed skin with a warm cloth, the water of the bucket was black already. He finished quickly on the sight of the General. Informing him that she had thrown up both her breakfast and lunch, that the drug had been added to her dinner to help her sleep. 

Trajan nodded and dismissed the man. Sitting down on his own cot facing her. 

“How are you feeling?” 

She just looked confused. 

“Answer, Kestrel.” 

“Longing.” 

“What do you long?” 

She frowned, “the drug.” 

“Well stop it. It isn’t good for you. Once you’re home, we’ll be taking you off this sleeping drug as well. Is that understood?” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s bad for you. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Kestrel moved her eyes away from the man and to her cot. “Sorry.” 

“Let’s get you eating,” he pulled the meal close and helped her. 

She was still trembling, and Trajan almost ordered her to stop but managed to stop himself. After gulping down the water she promptly fell to sleep. 

This continued for several days. She ate breakfast and lunch, threw them up. She ate dinner then slept well through the night. 

All day she trembled and whimpered. 

Trajan avoided speaking to her as much as possible, and she didn’t seem bothered. 

Eventually, they got home. And her cot was carried to her old room, already furnished and ready for her. The soft mattress, the warm feather duvet and perfect cushions. First though, Kestrel was moved from the cot to a comfortable seat in the corner of her room. Trajan assigned slaves to take care of her. 

After all, it had worked when she was a child, why not now? 

He didn’t leave her room immediately, watching as the slaved undressed her. He saw the scars on her arms, on her shoulders, her collarbone, he could see her skeletal form. Bone and skin, pale and fragile skin that was breaking at the seams and spilling blood. Despite the care put into the removal of her clothes, the skin still ripped away with it spilling more and more blood. 

Kestrel didn’t complain. She closed her eyes as if tired. 

He saw her back and all the ugly scars. And suddenly, that pang of pride he’d held at the camp when they’d told him she had tried to escape, fled, replaced with regret and vivid images of when and how this must have taken place. Imaged of his daughter in pain. Was what finally made him leave the room. 

Leaving the slaves alone to care for his only daughter.


	3. For What?

The slaves got Kestrel into a bath; warm water that promptly turned black. They had to take het out and rerun it a couple of times. She didn’t complain. She let them shampoo her hair and wash away the dirt and dust. The soaps and shampoos smelt like fruits and flowers. 

Kestrel recognized he smells thought she didn’t know from where. 

The slaved pulled her from the bath, dried her with a towel and put her in soft pajamas that hanged loosely from her shoulders. They moved her into the bed and tucked her in. They told her to sleep. But she shook her head. 

One of the slaves, a Herrani woman who had fought valiantly in the war and been taken prisoner because of it, sat on the side of the bed, “leave, I’ll see to it she sleeps,” she reassured the others who were happy to get away from the General’s daughter. No matter how harmless Kestrel seemed. 

“Why don’t you want to sleep Beautiful?” 

“I do,” Kestrel whispered. 

“Then why don’t you?” she touched Kestrel’s face, soft and caring. 

“I need the sleeping drug,” Kestrel tried to sit up. 

The woman held her down easily, shaking her head, “no, no. You can sleep without it, are you not tired?” 

Kestrel nodded. 

“Then close your eyes and sleep.” 

Kestrel closed her eyes then opened them again and shook her head, tears filled her eyes, “I can’t. I’ve never slept without it. Never.” This was a lie. But Kestrel didn’t know this. 

The woman frowned, and spoke in Herrani, her own language, “stupid Valorians, how am I to manage this?” 

Kestrel’s eyebrows furrowed, “Valorians?” 

The Herrani didn’t realize instantly that Kestrel had understood, Valorian was after all the same in both languages. 

“You don’t have to manage me,” she whispered, “I can... I can manage.” 

The woman was surprised to hear Kestrel speak her language, especially with such ease as though it were her mother tongue. For an instant she had to double take, but this girl was definitely Valorian. “No. No. I am happy to care for you,” she pushed her hand through the girl’s hair, “what if I told you a story? Would that help you sleep?” 

Kestrel nodded. 

The Herrani slave told the girl a story of gods, her gods, her voice was soft, as if cautioning her. The story was good. And familiar, Kestrel had never heard it before, but for some reason being told a story, in Herrani, while her hair was caringly brushed, and the bed kept her warm. It all felt familiar. 

This familiarity embraced her as did sleep. 

When she next woke up, General Trajan was sitting next to the bed. 

“You look much better,” he commented, “amazing what a good bath and some fresh clothes can do.” 

She tried to sit up but didn’t have the energy to. 

Trajan looked away, “don’t push yourself. There’s no rush.” He waved his hand dismissively. 

“Where am I?” 

He raised his brows, “Herran. You’re old room. Has it been so long you don’t recognize your own home?” 

She looked around, her eyes cautious and curious. “I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” 

“Remember it.” 

Trajan sat back, “it hasn’t been that long. But I guess a lot had happened.” 

If Kestrel remembered who this man was and their history, she’d know he was being extremely gentle. 

“You haven’t said anything about what I did. I take it that means you understand?” he started the question out firm, but his voice faltered just the tiniest amount towards the end. Not that Kestrel realized. 

She shook her head. 

“You don’t understand?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...” 

Trajan frowned, “the last time we saw each other. With the emperor. Your letter.” 

Kestrel didn’t react to any of his words. Not the way he expected, not in any way. 

“Kestrel, do you remember anything?” he tried to smile. But it was fake. It was meant as a joke, an attempt at humor. To lighten the mood. 

Kestrel lowered her eyes to her duvet, “I remember my cell, the morning drug and the night drug. Lifting, collecting, work. I remember work...” 

Trajan watched her tremble. 

“Do you remember how you got there?” 

She shook her head. 

“Who you are?” 

Another shake. 

“Who I am?” 

One last shake. 

Trajan sat there. He stared, he looked away. It was a saying, that those who went to the camp forgot who they were. Forgot everything but work. Drugs that only made you work, seemed to good to be true. And there had to be a reason it wasn’t widely spread. Yet Trajan hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t wanted to. 

“I’m sorry.” Trajan felt tears run down his face. 

“For what?”


	4. Lies

Trajan hated what had become of his daughter. 

She struggled to keep food down. Was constantly shaking. The slaves had to help her with everything. Although Trajan took comfort in the realization that one of the slaves took particular interest in the girl. She didn’t just do her job, she murmured soft words of comfort to Krestel, the kind Trajan could not. 

She held Krestel’s hands when she was crying or shaking particularly badly. Told her she didn’t need it when she begged for drugs nobody had. 

Trajan pulled her aside one day. 

The poor woman looked terrified. She was shaking almost as much as his daughter, thinking surely, she had done something wrong. Was it talking in her native tongue? Was it the stories? Was it getting too close to the General’s daughter? Was it...? 

“Thank you,” Trajan looked past the woman into the room at his currently sleeping daughter. She slept a lot. And at the same time, not enough. “I’ve seen how you care for her. You have gone above and beyond you’re position.” 

The woman stilled; she wasn’t being scolded. 

“I would like for you to be her main caretaker.” 

“Of course, Sir,” she nodded, it was a job, an order. 

“This means you’re only job from now on is her.” 

The woman looked surprised. 

“You can give orders to the others in regards to her, and if something happens, you have the right to come speak directly to me. No need for middlemen when it comes to my daughter. Is this understood?” 

“Yes Sir.” 

Trajan stood still for a moment, staring at his daughter, “in her youth she had a Herrani nurse. After her mother passed.” 

The woman sucked in her lips. 

“She loved her very much,” it was unclear who he meant, did Krestel love Enai or Enai Krestel? Both, was the correct answer. “So much so, that the nurse was freed once Krestel was old enough. Perhaps the same fate may be of you, if my daughter recovers well.” 

The woman’s eyes widened. 

“Consider it an incentive.” 

The woman nodded, “Thank you Sir.” 

Trajan left. He always left. 

Kestrel began to show signs of stress. 

“Who am I?” she asked, sitting up in her bed. 

The Herrani woman frowned, “Lady Kestrel, you’re General Trajan’s daughter.” 

Kestrel shook her head. “That can’t be right,” she whispered, looking towards the door. 

“Why not Beautiful?” 

“That man... General Trajan...” she looked down, “he... he can’t be my father.” 

“Why not?” 

“He... he scares me.” 

The woman smiled, “he scares all of us.” 

Kestrel shook her head, “but I wouldn’t be scared of my own father, would I?” she looked uncertain. 

“I don’t know what happened between you two to make you fear him. I’m sure you have your reasons.” 

“The only memory I have of him is him rescuing me from prison...” she whispered, “I shouldn’t fear the man who rescued me.” She was thinking out loud, yet after a small pause she looked up at her caretaker in search of an opinion. 

She frowned, “I think he loves you.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Well, he is always inquiring about you. Always asking how you’re doing, if you’re eating, if you’re sleeping.” 

“Why doesn’t he come and ask me?” 

The woman frowned, “I don’t think he’s quite ready to face you.” 

“Face me?” 

“He probably feels guilty that you got as bad as you are.” 

Kestrel tried to sit up straighter with slight difficulty, she was getting better, slowly. “Why was I in prison?” 

The woman shook her head, “I don’t know Beautiful.” 

“Did I do something bad?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You must know something!” 

The woman looked down and shook her heads, “I’m just a slave following orders. I—” she hesitated, looked around, “I know who you were before prison. But I don’t know how you got there.” 

Kestrel crossed her arms, “and who was I?” 

“You were engaged to the emperor’s son. Future empress to the valorian people.” 

Kestrel paused, then snarled, “lies!” 

The woman flinched and moved away. 

“Do you think I am a fool?” she was getting irritated; she shook her head. “How would I go from that to...” she tried to move but fell on her stomach. She shook her head. 

“Perhaps... I’m mistaken... it’s what I’d heard...” her voice was soft and fearful. 

This got Kestrel to calm down, “I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s get you tucked in so you can take a nap,” she helped the girl back into a comfortable position, “do you need a tea?” 

Kestrel nodded. 

“I’ll be right back—” 

“And a story,” she looked hopeful, “please.” 

The woman smiled, “of course.” 

“Not this one,” Kestrel whispered having finished her tea and listening attentively to the story, “I know this one, you already told it to me.” 

The woman frowned; she definitely had not told this story. But she switched to another one anyway. 

Soon Kestrel had the energy to go her bathroom alone, to move from her bed to one of her chairs. She had the energy to sit on the floor and stare into the mirror. Touching her fingertips against the smooth cold surface, tracing her cheek, skinny and so unfamiliar. Like it was a stranger looking back at her. 

It had been nearly a full week since she had seen her supposed father. She recognizes the footsteps were not of her usual caretakers, they were louder. She saw the man in the mirror, standing at the door. 

“Kestrel,” he frowned, “what are you doing on the ground?” 

Kestrel turned away from the mirror, “standing is tiring.” 

“Do you not have enough chairs? Seats? Beds? Is the floor truly the best place for you to be?” he sounded stern, he was scolding her. 

“I like seeing the girl in the mirror,” she explained as if that girl were not herself. She played with her hair, before pushing herself onto shaky legs. 

“Where is your caretaker?” 

“In the kitchen, I told her I was hungry.” 

Trajan nodded, “I’m told you’re starting to keep your food down?” 

She nodded, making her way over to her bed where she fell in a sitting position, looking tired. “It’s been several days since I was sick.” 

“Good,” he nodded, moving closer, “and your memory?” 

Kestrel looked to her hands, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” 

Trajan sat down, a hand on top of his daughter’s, “it’s okay.” 

“Could you... could you tell me?” 

Trajan looked away. “Tell you what?” 

“What I forgot?” 

A moment of silence. “I could lie to you, tell you whatever I want you to believe, and you would not know if what I tell you is true or not.” 

Kestrel looked down at his hand, placing her other hand atop it, “are you my father?” 

Trajan nodded, “yes.” 

“Why would you lie to me then?” 

“I’m... I’m not saying I would. However, I could. You should have thought of that and not asked.” 

Kestrel looked confused, her brows furrows and she stared back down at the hands, “so you won’t tell me? You want me to remember on my own?” 

Trajan didn’t respond. 

“And what if the memories never come back? I don’t know how to make them...” 

Trajan opened his mouth to say something, but before he could the slave came in with a tray and a mug of stew. “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she looked panicked and about to leave. 

“No,” Trajan stood, “I was just leaving,” his hand pulled away from his daughter’s and without another word he left, nodding to the slave on the way out. 

The slave moved to Kestrel with the food. 

“I’m not hungry anymore.” 

“Beautiful, you need to—” 

“Leave me alone.” The order was clear, stern, like the way her father talked. “Please,” she added on softly.


	5. Proud of you

Trajan was ready to try anything to get his daughter’s memories back. 

Why? 

So, she could hate him? Be angry with him? So, she could understand the mistakes she’d made? So, she could remember the friends she’d lost? So, she could feel bad for the Herrani slaves? 

Yet, on the rare occasion Trajan was with his daughter, and on the even rarer occasion that she would speak. When she whispered softly about the work camps, about the drugs and the nothingness of it. And Trajan would tense up. She’d look up at him, ask if he wanted her to stop. 

That question, offer. Was so much more painful than any accusations or hatred. 

Trajan believed he deserved to hear every nitty detail about her time there, deserved to visualize the pain. Deserved to understand the weight of his decision. And yet, she offered him relief. Offered to talk about something else. As if he deserved such a thing. 

Like any Valorian, Trajan rarely slept. But when he did, he had nightmares like he hadn’t had since his wife died. 

He saw Kestrel, his child, in his dreams, she was only a child. About eight, the same age as when her mother had died. He saw her fall in love with a Herrani slave. Her nurse Enai. Then the image of Enai transformed into Arin. 

He saw his daughter, just a child, jumping and smiling and reaching up for him. And he ignored her. No. He didn’t ignore her, he stared down at her. She was crying, begging. “Please, Papa.” 

“You break my heart,” he responded. And she was dragged away. 

Trajan tried to wake himself. Before the worst part. 

It was too late. He saw her with her hands chained above her head, screaming and struggling. The sound of the whip reached his ears before he saw it. Blood dripped down her back and to the dirt bellow. 

He saw her limp in his arms. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Trajan began to cry. 

“For what, Papa?” she whispered before closing her eyes. 

He woke. 

He took deep breaths and turned on a lamp. Standing and pacing. 

He soon realized he couldn't sleep. Not yet. So, he silently moved through the house. He reached the familiar room of his daughter, tapped it ever so lightly. No response. He pushed it open and peered in. 

Kestrel was sleeping. Her chest lifting and falling. 

Trajan walked in. Sat down. His hand went through her hair. 

She rustled a little in her sleep but didn’t wake. 

“I love you, Kestrel, I’m sorry.” 

A soft mumbling. 

“You need to be clearer if you want me to understand you Kestrel,” his voice went back to it’s usual stern coldness. 

Kestrel’s hand found his, “stay,” she whispered. 

It was a request she had made a million times. At many different times of their life. And every time, Trajan had left. He’s left her room when she was little, left her alone with the nurse, left her to go to war, left her in favor of people he considered more important than her. 

How had he considered anybody more important than her? 

He lay down next to her. “Okay.” 

She fell asleep with her head against his chest. He placed an arm around her, promising her safety. 

It was the first night since Kestrel’s return, no, since she left, that he slept peacefully through the whole night. Knowing, he’d done something right. No matter how small. 

The next morning, Trajan helped Kestrel to walk through the halls to the dining hall, helping her to sit and ordering breakfast be bought. He sat close to her. 

“I can’t remember you coming to my room,” Kestrel admitted. 

“You were barely awake,” he told her. 

“Oh,” she accepted the food. Trajan watched her eat it slowly. He realized she still struggled with food. But she was trying. 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

This caught Kestrel by surprise, she looked up with wide eyes, “what?” 

“For trying your best, for eating,” he pushed the plate closer. 

She put her fork down, the opposite of what Trajan had been aiming for. “You’re never proud of me,” despite the certainty in her tone, her eyes were hesitant, her expression confused. She knew this, but she wasn’t sure how. 

“That’s not true.” Trajan looked down at his own unappealing breakfast, “I was often proud of you when you were young, my little warrior. I was proud of you when you got engaged and—” he stopped himself. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible example.” 

“What happened to the engagement?” 

Trajan hesitated, “you never married.” 

“Did we not love each other?” she tilted her head. 

“No. You didn’t.” 

“Then why get engaged?” she finally picked her fork up and ate, “I sound like I was very stupid.” 

Trajan shook his head, “no. You were very smart. You were never the problem.” 

Kestrel looked like she wanted to ask more, but she was also scared that if she did Trajan would leave. And for some reason, Kestrel knew she didn’t want that. So, she just nodded, accepting the explanation for what it was. 

After breakfast, Trajan took Kestrel to the music room. 

“What’s this?” 

“It’s a piano.” 

Kestrel frowned, “I know that. But it’s not mine.” 

It was not. It was not her piano. Not her later mother’s piano that she had spent many hours playing. It was a brand new, beautiful piano. 

“I bought it for you. I don’t know where your old piano is.” 

She nodded, and sat down, her hands touched the black and white keys. But they didn’t press down, didn’t make a noise. 

“Do you need some sheet music?” he pulled some off a shelf, handing it to her. Hopeful the piano, that she had spent so many hours playing, would somehow help her retrieve her lost memories. 

She stared at the sheet music, placed it in its correct place but still, didn’t play. 

“Is something wrong?” 

"Yes.” 

“What?” Trajan was eager to fix it. 

“I don’t know.” 

He stayed silent. 

She shook her head and stood, “I’m too tired for the piano.” 

“You just woke up,” Trajan argued, moving to support her weight when she wobbled. 

“I’ve walked all throughout the house,” she argued. 

Trajan almost argued with her, but he nodded. “Okay, maybe later?” 

She shrugged, “maybe.” 

Later came and went. Trajan spent more and more time with his daughter. He tried to push her to play the piano, but the most she would do was sit and contemplate it. 

He tried to show her maps and books that he’d taught her before. She would try to listen and look interested, but behind the politeness, her hands shook ever so slightly, as though it were causing her some kind of distress. 

He stopped. 

He tried to get her to get back into horse riding, remembering how much she loved it as a child. But when he saw her too fragile body atop the horse, he realized he was not ready for this yet. And bought her back inside. 

He showed her photos. This finally sparked something. Her dingers traced the faces. First her father’s, then her mother’s, finally her own. 

“I remember my mother,” she whispered, “she loved me.” 

Trajan nodded. 

“You loved her.” 

Trajan nodded again. 

She stared, lost in deep thought. Memories, even? 

“Where is mother? I haven’t seen her?” 

Trajan froze. 

“Is she angry with me? For going to prison?” Kestrel stared down at the photo; tears filled her eyes. When her father gave no answer she continued, “am I bad?” Still no answer. “Is that I went to prison?” 

“Kestrel.” 

She looked up at him. 

He shook his head and pulled her close, “you only ever meant well,” he whispered, “your mother... passed away, when you were but a child.” 

Kestrel sat still, “oh.” 

“It’s just us now.” 

“Oh,” she leaned into his embrace, “I love you Father.” 

Trajan held her, “I love you too,” he whispered, his hands passed the page onto more photos of her as a child, “more than anything else in this world.” 

For some reason Kestrel didn’t believe that.


End file.
